


I was told to stand behind by a voice so perfect I didn't dare deny it

by Witcher_Trash_Party



Series: Witcher Trash Party [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Cunnilingus, Dacryphilia, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Humiliation, Improper Use of Axii (The Witcher), M/M, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Kink, Slut Shaming, Vaginal Sex, geralt is a bad man, jaskier has kind of a fucked up relationship with his own consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27497614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witcher_Trash_Party/pseuds/Witcher_Trash_Party
Summary: The barmaid settles herself on the bed, watching Jaskier as he pulls down his smallclothes - and she laughs.Shelaughs.Jaskier freezes on the spot. He has never received such a reaction before.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s)
Series: Witcher Trash Party [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990582
Comments: 5
Kudos: 144





	I was told to stand behind by a voice so perfect I didn't dare deny it

**Author's Note:**

> _"[...] Geralt starts axii influencing people Jaskier sleeps with so they start laughing at him/ humiliating him and he doesn't know why they're suddenly degrading him. Jaskier ends up going to Geralt because Geralt's the only one that will accept him. Geralt still humilates him when fucking but he tells Jaskier he's the only one that will put up with him. To spice it up, add a bit of crying while they fuck if you want"_

Jaskier has been trading smiles and winks with the pretty barmaid - Klara, she had introduced herself - ever since he and Geralt arrived at the inn.

She’s really beautiful - long dark brown hair, put into a bun so she can work without it bothering her; striking green eyes; nice tits that, if Jaskier were to make an educated guess, seem like they would fit right into Jaskier’s hands. And she’s even nice to Geralt as she serves him - hostility towards his dear travel companion is a big turn-off for Jaskier.

When Jaskier finishes his set, Klara catches his gaze and inclines her head towards the stairs that lead to the rooms - he nods. She goes, and Jaskier follows, after he leaves his lute with Geralt for safe keeping.

She leads him into what must be her room - plain but obviously lived-in. As soon as the door falls closed behind him, she’s kissing him. Jaskier’s hands immediately start picking at the laces of her dress.

Klara tangles her fingers in his hair and uses the grip to guide Jaskier’s lips where she wants them - on her throat. He likes women that know what they want. He licks and he sucks at her skin, slightly salty with sweat, pushing her dress off her shoulders, until she’s only in her long white chemise.

She brings him back for a kiss, full of tongue and teeth, and helps him with his doublet. She gets a good grip on his embroidered shirt and pulls it over his head, throwing it to land _somewhere_ in the room. She bites at his clavicle, petting his chest with her free hand, tugging at his chest hair a little, brushing over his nipple with the gentlest of touches. He shivers, and she chuckles.

Klara pulls away from him to get out of her chemise, and Jaskier kicks off his travelling boots and busies himself with the laces of his breeches.

She settles herself on the bed, watching him as he pulls down his smallclothes - and she laughs.

She _laughs_.

Jaskier freezes on the spot. He has never received such a reaction before.

Klara puts a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter, but Jaskier can clearly see the amusement in her eyes, which are looking at, as Jaskier confirms with a glance himself, his hard cock.

Embarrassment washes over him. He can feel his cheeks go red. “Is there anything wrong?” he asks, voice tight.

“Sorry, baby,” she’s still almost-laughing, “I couldn’t help myself, you’ve surprised me. I didn’t expect you to be so _small_.”

Jaskier doesn’t know what to say. His erection has flagged, somewhat, ever since that first burst of laughter, but when he looks down at himself, he’d be confident in saying he’s at least average-sized. Sure, it’s no monster, but it’s also not too small; he likes to think it’s _just right_ , since there weren’t any complaints - until tonight, that is.

That’s when Jaskier catches up - Klara doesn’t mean it, she’s just one of those people that enjoy shaming their partners. Jaskier had tried it a few times, but it wasn’t his cup of tea, neither shaming or being shamed. He lives to please, though, and it’s no hardship for him to indulge Klara tonight. He would have liked some warning, perhaps a little negotiation beforehand, but he knows that it turns a lot of people off.

He gulps down the insecurity that arose with him. He comes closer. “I’m - sorry?” he offers.

Klara’s eyebrows scrunch together as she scrutinizes his prick. “You can’t possibly get me off with a tiny thing like that,” she says, “and I’m not risking that you doze off the moment you shoot your load, leaving me unsatisfied. You’ll eat me out and only once you’ve made me come with your mouth, you can try to fuck me.”

Jaskier nods - he likes eating pussy, and he doesn’t mind bringing his partner pleasure before he goes to chase his. He goes to lay between her thighs, but Klara stops him.

“On your side,” she orders. “I want to see your tiny bits while you do it.”

Jaskier obliges her. He lays on his side, head pillowed on her thigh, her other leg thrown over his torso.

He starts slow, trailing light kisses down her pubic mound and over her clit. She sighs in pleasure and pets his hair, though he can feel her burning gaze focused on his cock.

“Who would have guessed the great bard Jaskier has a little-boy dick,” Klara muses. Jaskier feels a new wave of mortification sweep through him when she reaches out and holds it between two fingers right under the head, inspecting it.

Jaskier licks a broad stroke over her pussy, and then circles her clit with his tongue. He places another kiss there, sucks on it.

Klara groans. “It’s so cute,” she continues. “I have never seen a prick this small. How did you even get your reputation, with no cock to speak of? Your hands and mouth must be very busy, making up for such a shortcoming…”

Jaskier flicks his tongue against her, sucking harder as shame fills him at her words. She moans and presses his face into her cunt.

“Does it slip out often, this tiny thing? Though it is hard to imagine someone letting you fuck them in the first place, they wouldn’t be able to feel it at all. Can you even piss right? Or do you have to hunker down like a little girl?”

Jaskier can feel his own face burning. His throat feels dry, but he swallows down witty protests and licks right inside Klara where she’s wet and blood-hot.

“I think you do,” Klara says, patting his head, condescending, “can’t imagine you pissing like a real man with this pathetic excuse of a cock between your legs. You know, I’ve seen clits bigger than _this_.” She tightens her grip, pinching just the smallest amount, but Jaskier lets out a groan, half pain, half pleasure, and all humiliation. Klara gasps and grinds against his face. “But that’s okay. You don’t need that useless thing to make me feel good, do you?”

Jaskier fucks his tongue inside her; she twists her hand in his hair and pulls him even closer. She’s getting closer, Jaskier can feel it.

“Pity about your balls, too,” she shakes her head. “How much cum can be in them? A drop or two. Though it is for the best that you do not reproduce, with this little defect of yours. You should leave that to grown men - “

He moves his attention back to her clit, suckling on it, teasing it with his tongue, until Klara swears and comes. He knows better than to pull away on his own, so he works her through it, until she’s pushing his face away from her pussy.

She looks at him, eyes hooded, brow sweaty. “You want to fuck me now?”

Jaskier nods. “Yes.”

“That’s not how we ask,” Klara tsks at him.

Jaskier blinks once, twice, as Klara regards him with an expectant expression. “How _do_ we ask?”

“Oh, baby,” Klara coos, “your head is almost as useless as your prick. If you want to fuck me, you ask, _‘May I pretty please put my pathetic little-boy cock in your pussy, madam?’_ ”

Jaskier feels himself _burn_ with humiliation at the mere thought of saying that. But he won’t back down - it makes Klara feel good and it will get him his cock wet, so there’s no reason to stop. He just needs to make himself say it. “May I - “ he tries, but the words die on his tongue. Klara’s lips quirk up in a smile. He takes a deep breath. “May I pretty please put - put my pathetic little-boy cock in - in your pussy, madam?”

“There’s a good boy,” she smirks. “You may.”

Jaskier rises to his knees, spits in his palm and wets his cock with it.

“Where are your manners, boy?” Klara asks, voice hard. “I have just given you something you asked for. I expect to be thanked for it.”

Jaskier’s skin crawls with shame. “Thank you, madam,” he chokes out.

“For?”

“For - for allowing me to - to - to put my p-pathetic little-boy cock in your pussy, m-madam,” Jaskier stammers. He thinks there are tears burning in his eyes, so he blinks quickly to chase them away.

Klara gives him a satisfied smile and a curt nod.

Jaskier crawls closer, one hand keeping his balance on the bed, the other holding his dick, guiding himself into Klara’s wet cunt. He lets out a deep sigh when he finally feels her soft warmth envelop him.

“Almost couldn’t feel it go in,” Klara says.

Jaskier grits his teeth and starts moving in her - slowly at first, but steadily building, until he has a nice rhythm going.

“You can’t even tickle me with that little worm,” she continues. “I think you should accept that with a stupid, shameful tiny prick like yours, you were only made to be fucked, boy.”

Jaskier really thought she’d drop the act once he started fucking her. He _knows_ his cock is a normal size, but - but now that she’s in her and she looks amused and vaguely bored, he’s starting to have doubts. Maybe he really has a small dick. A pathetic little-boy cock, a man-clit. He fucks her harder, faster; frustrated by his thoughts and just wanting to get it over with. And just as he reaches his peak -

Klara twists her hips masterfully, his cock slips out of her and Jaskier comes like that, prick twitching and bouncing pitifully with every spurt of come it pumps out, soiling both of their bellies. It’s the worst orgasm he has ever experienced. He whines as his pleasure is snatched away from him, a terrible fuck ending with a ruined orgasm.

“Clean up your mess, boy,” Klara says, and Jaskier doesn’t even think about protesting. He licks his own cum off her skin, and then he scoops up what has ended up on him with his fingers and swallows that as well.

She arches an eyebrow at him.

“Thank you, madam,” Jaskier mutters, and it sounds hollow to his own ears.

Klara smiles, pats his cheek, stands up and starts dressing herself. “I expect you to be gone when I come back.”

So, that was… bad.

But Jaskier wouldn’t let one bad fuck ruin sex for him, not when he had already experienced a plethora of very pleasurable encounters before Klara came around. Two days later, he was once again secure in the knowledge that his cock was an average size, and he refused to let his mind linger on Klara’s words or actions.

Few days after that, he and Geralt arrive at another town, and they decide to spend the night. They get a room at the inn, and Jaskier plays his songs well into the night to merry tavern-goers.

Amongst them the local butcher - a hulking mountain of a man, with jet-black hair and dark eyes and with a bit of stubble decorating the handsome cut of his jaw. Jaskier wants this man to _wreck_ him. Whenever he passes his table, he makes sure to wink at him and, when his flirtations turn out to be returned, brush against him a little.

At one point in the evening the butcher disappears, but before Jaskier can be disappointed, the backdoor opens and the butcher returns, followed by Geralt - they just went out to take a piss. Jaskier’s evening plans don’t need to change.

As Jaskier is packing up his lute after finishing his performance, the butcher approaches him.

“You sang well,” he says.

“Thank you,” Jaskier smiles, making sure that there’s a question mark audible at the end. He likes to know what to scream in the throes of passion.

“Eryk,” the butcher answers. “And you’re Jaskier?”

“That I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eryk,” Jaskier winks. “Now, what do you say we get out of here?”

Eryk agrees. Jaskier leaves his lute with Geralt, and then lets Eryk lead him through the town to the butchershop, and above it, where he has lodgings. Eryk starts kissing him and tugging at his clothes as soon as they arrive at his modest flat. They leave a trail of garments as they make their way to the bedroom, still in a lip lock.

Eryk pushes him down on the bed, and with a man like this, Jaskier knows what he wants. He turns on his stomach and waves his ass in the air. “ _Please_ fuck me, Eryk - “

The butcher wastes no time. He fetches his oil and slicks up his fingers, and then there’s a thick digit insistently pressing against Jaskier’s rim - Jaskier relaxes and it slips in. He has fingered himself open yesterday evening, out in the wilderness when horniness crept up on him after they have eaten their dinner, and he’s glad for the little time it will save them now.

Another finger soon joins the first one, and after a few thrusts, Eryk spreads them, scissoring them, stretching Jaskier deliciously. Hes fingers feel simply _marvellous_ , much better than his own felt just few hours ago -

“Fuck, you take them easy,” Eryk gasps against the skin of his lower back. “You open up so quick.”

Jaskier preens, always happy to please his partners - and it does please them, when the can get to fucking him even just a few seconds sooner.

Third finger. “You have such a loose hole,” Eryk continues in a sweet voice. “Fucked wide open.”

Jaskier freezes. A heavy weight settles in the pit of his stomach, uncomfortable.

Eryk keeps fucking his fingers in and out of him at a steady pace. “I had prostitutes that I had to prep longer,” he notes, vaguely amused. “How many dicks did you have up your arse today, boy?”

Jaskier shivers, and it’s not a good shiver. Another lover that enjoys putting him down, in such a short time frame. Jaskier has some shit luck, but - but he won’t just stop now and return back to the tavern to pick up someone else. It wasn’t so bad, afterall - he knows he’s none of the things they call him, and the ruined orgasm he had with Klara was probably just a stupid accident. And Eryk is a very handsome man and Jaskier wants him to plow him into the mattress.

“None,” he says.

Eryk hums, considering. Circling his prostate, but not touching it. “You’re probably this loose all the time,” Eryk says, “got so used to being split open on a cock, your slutty hole can’t even tighten back up. I’ve heard that you’re easy, but didn’t think they meant _this_ easy.”

Jaskier has a biting retort ready, but Eryk’s fat, oiled dick slides between his cheeks at that very moment, teasing above his hole stuffed full of fingers. He can’t help the whine that escapes him - it will fill him up so good -

“Desperate slut,” Eryk chuckles. “You want it? You want my cock?”

Jaskier nods. “Yes,” he breathes.

“Beg for it, then. Beg me to fuck your greedy little hole.”

Jaskier grits his teeth. It’s worth it, he tells himself. “Please fuck my greedy little hole.”

Eryk withdraws his fingers, takes a hold of his cock and taps it against Jaskier’s stretched, wet entrance. “You need it? You need my big fat cock to fill you up?”

“Yeah,” Jaskier says. “Yeah, I need your big fat cock to fill me up, I’m - I’m so empty, please - ”

The head of Eryk’s pops in, and Jaskier lets out a relieved sigh. It feels so nice to be speared on a thick, blood-hot dick -

“Hope I won’t catch anything from you,” Eryk mumbles as he seats himself fully, as if to himself, if it weren’t for the fact that Jaskier can hear him loud and clear. “Who knows who you’ve let fuck you, filthy slut.”

Something twists in Jaskier’s chest at the words. His eyes start to sting as his body properly adjusts to Eryk’s prick inside.

Then, Eryk moves. He quickly picks up a rhythm, and even as Jaskier burns with the stretch and humiliation, he can’t help the moan that leaves him. Eryk feels so good inside him, _so fucking good_ -

“Yeah, take that,” Eryk grunts, snapping his hips viciously, “you’ve been gagging for it ever since you came in, just begging to get fucked - I could see it on your face, we all could, it took us all just one look to see what a dumb horny cockslut you are… tell me, are you a dumb horny cockslut?”

Jaskier _knows_ there’s nothing wrong with how often he has sex - but, well, if there wasn’t anything wrong with it, why would Eryk bring it up? Maybe he really is a filthy cockdumb whore, spreading his legs wide for any dick that he sees, only ever thinking about cock, about getting plowed. His hole is fucked open, constantly sloppy - he had taken so many cocks he’ll never, ever be tight again, he let himself be ruined and now he’s always gaping, aching for another prick to fill that empty, empty space inside him, aching for another man to fuck his loose hole and fill him with cum -

 _With a stupid, shameful tiny prick like yours, you were only made to be fucked, boy,_ Klara’s words ring around in his head.

“Yes,” Jaskier gasps. “I’m a dumb, horny cockslut.”

Eryk rewards him with a slap to his ass. Jaskier hisses in pain, clenches around him, feeling Eryk battering away at his insides even more intensely. It’s so good, it feels so good to be just a hole to fuck -

Jaskier realizes he’s sobbing when Eryk hits his prostate head on and it rips a scream out of his tight throat wet with phlegm - he’s crying pitifully as Eryk rams into him, again and again, thrusts hard and sharp and quick - he’s saying something else, something about Jaskier being a sloppy slut, about his loose hole, about being greedy and dirty and horny and filthy and stupid and easy -

Jaskier comes without a touch to his cock, and Eryk follows soon after.

“Say, ‘ _thank you, sir, for fucking my slutty hole’_ ,” Eryk prompts.

“Th-thank you, sir, for - for fucking my slutty hole,” Jaskier repeats, obedient.

Jaskier walks back to the inn with cum still dripping out of him.

And as much as Jaskier tries to bounce back from it - as much as he tries to convince himself that Klara and Eryk didn’t mean it and even if they did, it didn’t matter because Jaskier was more than adequate - but it just keeps on happening. He takes another woman to bed and she laughs at his chest hair and tugs at it meanly while she tells him he’s ugly, hairy like an animal; he picks up a man and when he sees how much precome Jaskier’s cock leaks, he tells him he’s wetter than any woman.

Jaskier can’t have sex without being degraded, and that must mean… that there’s really something wrong with him. It would explain why nobody ever stays. Why he’s good for a night but not more - he’s a stupid, ugly slut with a loose hole and a useless little dripping cocklet.

There’s only one person that sticks around, only one that accepts him - his dear witcher, and Jaskier can’t help himself, he yearns for closeness, for intimacy, for physical contact that won’t leave him feeling worthless -

“Geralt,” Jaskier asks, voice small, staring into his cup of wine while Geralt sharpens his swords, “will you _please_ fuck me?”

Geralt sets the whetstone and his swords away.

“I wouldn’t have asked this of you if I had a choice, dear friend, but - nobody - nobody else wants me, so - please?” He feels very fragile. He’s so fond of Geralt, he doesn’t want to drive him away with his neediness, with all his ugly parts, but he needs - he needs to feel okay again, and Geralt has always accepted him, and he’ll surely accept him now just the same - Geralt has never laughed at his hairy chest, or his tiny cock, or his fucked-open asshole - Geralt knows he’s a dirty whore and he doesn’t mind, stays by his side just the same.

“Of course I will,” Geralt tells him. “I know you can’t handle having your hole empty.”

Jaskier keens. Geralt knows him, and he will have him just the same. Wonderful, wonderful man - everyone calls him a monster, but nobody ever sees how _good_ Geralt is, willing to touch Jaskier’s filthy, ugly body when nobody else wants to.

Geralt pushes him to lay back on the bed and Jaskier goes willingly, legs falling open to make space for Geralt’s body between.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” Jaskier murmurs as Geralt pulls his embroidered chemise over his head, exposing his chest.

“That you are,” Geralt agrees, pinching his nipple meanly. “Nobody else is willing to put up with you, only me.”

It hurts to hear, but Jaskier knows he’s right. It’s okay, it doesn’t matter what Geralt says, as long as he doesn’t leave him. It’s okay that Geralt is honest with him - Jaskier can’t ask him to lie, can’t ask him to pretend that Jaskier is good, that he has worth.

“Tell me what you want, Jaskier,” Geralt orders.

“I - I want you to - to pound my sloppy mancunt, please,” Jaskier says.

Geralt hums, amused. “Needy little slut.” But he does reach for the laces of Jaskier’s breeches, so it’s okay. He gets Jaskier naked and when the bard is bare before him, his eyes are drawn to Jaskier’s hard prick.

“What a cute little thing,” Geralt says, flicking it, “never in my long, long life have I seen a cock as small as yours. And you’ve got the balls to match, like children’s marbles. You’re really only a hole to be fucked, with a little-boy dick like this. Giving you a cock was a waste of effort on nature’s part - should have just left you smooth here.”

Jaskier’s eyes brim with tears, and when the first one finally escapes and slides down his cheek, he finds himself nodding along. Yes, his tiny dick is only decorative, entirely useless -

Geralt pushes his thighs up to his chest, and Jaskier pulls them even tighter with his hands hooked under his knees, putting his hole on display. Shame burns in him at being in such a position, at offering Geralt a look at the most vulnerable, most ruined part of him - but Geralt won’t leave, he won’t leave, so it’s okay. He might be disgusted, he might laugh, but he’s willing to stay, willing to fuck Jaskier anyway.

Geralt slides a slick finger into him. Jaskier takes it easy, so he soon adds a second one, giving Jaskier the prep that he doesn’t really need, with how used he is already - but it’s nice of Geralt to offer him a feeling of normalcy. Geralt works him up to three, though he does comment on how Jaskier doesn’t need three, before he slicks up his thick cock and presses into Jaskier in one smooth thrust.

Jaskier moans like the easy whore he is.

He doesn’t need to adjust, his asshole loose from fucking his way across the Continent, spreading his legs for every man he has ever met, so Geralt starts moving.

“Fuck, I’m not surprised nobody else wants you,” Geralt grunts. “I've bought whores that were tighter than your slutty ass. At least I don’t have to pay for you.”

Jaskier chokes on his tears as he gasps and sobs as Geralt fucks him. He’s worthless, useless - but Geralt will have him. Geralt is the only person in the world that will have him, and Jaskier is forever grateful for that.

“Thank you,” he mumbles. “Thank you, Geralt.”

“What for?” Geralt demands, wrapping a hand around Jaskier’s throat, to feel his adam’s apple bob with his sobs.

“For - for putting up with my worthless ass, for - for fucking my sloppy hole with - with your amazing cock, it’s so big, so much bigger than mine, a real man’s cock - “

“Good,” Geralt smiles, and fucks him harder as a reward. “Good, you’re talking sense for the first time in your life.”

Jaskier whines happily, face a mess of snot and tears.

“Nobody else will ever want you,” Geralt says, “remember that, you dumb slut.”

Oh, Jaskier _will_.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr as [@witchertrashparty](https://witchertrashparty.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
